Damnable
by Crazy Jack
Summary: It is my damnable sin that allows you to accuse me and for me to respond so cruelly. A brief tale of a subtle romance. Yumi x Ulrich one-shot.


Something new for me, I guess.

Sorry about the rawness and unbeta-ness (is that even a word?). I wrote this at about midnight, when a sudden fascination with Code Lyoko returned.

Disclaimer: I don't own jack sh*t. Except this story.

Enjoy!

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I would never say it to you, but your words cut me deep, and your expression pours painful salt onto my wounds.

I don't understand why you accused me like that. Underneath the oak tree, enjoying the first rays of spring, I was happy and content. The sun was new and fresh, and although my pale skin burns when yours tans, I rolled up my sleeves in order to relish this warmth.

You approached me slowly, and I expected a friendly welcome. I can't help but feel a little foolish at the way my eyes lit up when you approached. It's hard to admit, but I'm not always able to help the way the smile flashes to my face or the racing of my heartbeat. Pavlov's dogs, right?

What I got, however, was something not even cordial. You glared at me, as if I had no right to be under this (_our?_) tree, and demanded me for the reason why I would go out with William when we (the group) already had plans.

I'll admit, my answer wasn't the best. What can I say? You caught me by surprise. Normally, I think quickly on me feet, but hearing such a cold tone made me stumble.

If I hadn't been so shocked, perhaps I would have explained it better to you. I could have said that William isn't a bad guy. He may irk you, but he has a good heart, and he is shown constant coldness by most of the student body around us. He was plainly not invited to the group's night out, and besides, I had assumed that Odd's idea of going out to 'pick up chicks' didn't include me.

Instead, I responded rashly. I told you it was because he had nice things to say every now and then. Honestly, I couldn't help but respond to your coldness. It is second nature to me. Unfortunately, for both of us, mean retorts are like throwing fuel on a fire.

You got angry then. You accused me of being easily duped. When I responded by furiously asking if that included you as well, you threw your hands up in the air.

I hate that gesture.

To me, it looked as if you were telling me you were done, that you had no more desire to deal with me. Fear struck me in the heart. How would I cope if you decided to wash your hands of me?

Pride kept me from giving in, though. It is that damnable sin of mine, and paired with stubbornness, it is a deadly trait. I simply sat there, in my own anger, as you told me to do whatever I wanted. Sarcastically, I might add.

Then you took it further. You looked me in the eye. You said quietly, "Besides, I know you've never truly cared for me."

My damnable sin couldn't keep the shock off of my face then. I'm sure my jaw dropped, and my eyes widened, too. I was too struck to even say anything. You turned and marched away, disappearing into the woods.

For minutes, I just stood there. I must have looked like a full blown idiot, staring as if I had just seen the devil himself stroll by. My legs moved on my own, and I sunk back onto the grass.

Everything seemed cold after that. The sun, which I had found so pleasant, now torched my skin. I curled up next to the tree, wishing that it would swallow me whole. The sound of leaves in the wind was nails on a chalkboard. The grass sliced at me like millions of little blades.

I couldn't understand how you could even say such a thing? Did you think I followed you around in Lyoko as you did your crazy stunts because I liked your outfit? Was it possible you believed that I preferred your company over all other's because I liked the status?

Those words pierced me through and through. When the bell rang, I ignored it. When my phone beeped, I shut if off without glancing at the caller ID. When the sun began to lazily drift towards the west after noon, I finally stood.

Stupidly, all I could think was that I had a commitment still with William. I knew, though, that if I went, I'd be haunted by you and your words. I'll be the first to admit that normally, when we have an argument, I will choose to let you fill guilty and seek me out. I don't like chasing after people. It makes me feel weak.

But I cannot ignore this, can I? This is more than just one of those spats in which we'll inevitably make-up. This is different now. In those fights, I never doubted the fact that we were friends, and we cared for each other. My stomach physically aches at the idea that that's what you believe.

So I seek you out.

I turn my phone back on, only to receive three different messages. The one from William I return, telling him that I'll have to show him my favorite restaurant on another night. The other two are from Jeremy. The first one asks where I am. The second asks if you are with me.

I call him back, and when he picks up, he sounds relieved. "Are you alright?" his goofy voice sounds in my ear. "When you didn't come to class, we got worried. Ulrich is with you, isn't he?"

My heart drops. That means you aren't with them, and finding you is going to be difficult. You are always hard to find when you don't want to be found.

I am distracted, but I reassure Jeremy that I am find, and wish him luck in picking up chicks with Odd. In the background, Aelita says something with a teasing tone. I can practically feel the boy-genius' blush.

The sun is setting, and I know I must find you. I call my parents to relay a stupid excuse about a project, and then I'm off.

As expected, you are hard to find. The more I have to look, the angrier I feel. Hurt and confusion swim in the pits of my stomach, and I am bitterly joyful that I can force myself not to cry, despite the heat rising in the back of my throat. Wounded pride allows some of my sadness to be transformed into mechanical fury. It helps me to continue to move.

I check your room and your other favorite lurking places. You are in none of them. The sky is getting dark, and in a last ditch attempt, I seek you out at the factory.

It is a half-hearted journey. I honestly don't expect to see you there, so imagine my surprise when I find you just inside. You're sitting at the edge of the second floor, feet dangling. Something about that sight makes me uneasy. I know this structure is relatively sound, but the idea of the floor crumbling and you being pitched over makes me heart squeeze. Sometimes I think our experiences in Lyoko make us feel invincible. In this world, though, there is no materializing into some other life.

You hear me coming, and you turn to look at me. In my head, I prepared some sort of speech to give you. I always believe I can explain myself so eloquently, but one look at you makes the hurt rise like bile in my throat. Tears threaten my eyes, but I refuse to shed them. There's only one thing I know how to do, and that is to lash out.

"How dare you?" I practically scream at you. _I care for you, I need you,_ my mind screams to say, but words catch like flies in a web in the thickness of my throat. All I can choke out is a nearly unintelligible growl about what an idiot you are.

Smooth, right?

You glare back at me, but my anger must make you calm, because you simply sit there, compelling me with that russet gaze.

I can't stand this. Your coldness and mistrust has thrown me into an abyss. I want to tear at my hair and scream. I want to beat some sense into your senseless brain. I want you to just understand…

You make a sound. You ask me if that's all I came here for, and for some reason, some sense it knocked back into my brain.

This isn't how I normally am, is it? I've a passionate nature, but I like to calculate my decisions. Mostly because, just for this reason, I make a fool of myself when my emotions carry me away. I swallow my insubordinate, damnable sin and tears, and I force myself to meet your gaze.

"You're an idiot," I say, "if you have every truly believed that I care less for you than anyone else." _And even more so if you never knew that I cared for you the most._

My voice is hot with rage and cold with confusion. It must illicit some sort of reaction from you, because you jump to your feet. This is better, I think. I can handle you in front of me, with a challenge in your stance. I can't handle it when you run away.

Your voice is mean when you demand of me why that is true. "Why," you say, "do you always choose others over m – us? You aren't around as much as you used to be. Are you getting tired of us?"

Your voice is thick with anger and drips with accusation. I came here to heal the wounds you caused me, but it is as if you're twisting the knife already buried into my gut.

I can't help it. I unhinge. Of course I've been withdrawing lately. How could I help it? Hot tears I can't stop, but angrily wipe at, continuously leak from my eyes. "No!" I snarl, and a grim satisfaction triggers in me when you hesitate. "Of course not!"

"Then why?" You challenge me. "Why ignore us? Why pull away from us?"

You're so simple, I think. That's why I love you, I suppose. To you, everything is black and white. I retreat, and it must mean that I've lost interest in you. I would smile at your naivety if this were the time.

Instead, I glare back at you. I don't want to say it, but passion grips me, and I can't endure another moment of you looking at me with that accusatory gaze. "My parents are divorcing!" I snap, and just like that, the fury is gone from your face.

It is replaced with soft guilt and a plethora of other emotions. I can't read them all, but the one that stays there the longest is a lingering compassion. I am still angry, though, and the empathy in your gaze rubs my skin raw.

Tears have blurred my vision now, and I turn away from you to scrub them from my face. I intend to simply wipe them away to face you, but they pour out large and hot, and I end up covering my face with my hands as I sink to the floor.

I hadn't meant to hurt you, and you must believe that. My parent's announcement, only a few weeks ago, had shocked me from my, while not exactly blissful, still relatively contented existence. Only a few weeks ago, I had been happy with spending every ounce of my free time around you and the others. Even the fights against X.A.N.A hadn't been too terrible.

Their split rocked my world to its core. Anyone who knew my parents knew of their fragile marriage, but me, in my ignorance, always expected them to stay together. If not for each other, than for me, right?

I was wrong, though. I found it too hard to confide in any of my friends, especially you. I was afraid you would look at me the way you just did. I don't want to appear weak in your eyes. You are always a source of bravery for me. I like to think that I am the same for you.

Not telling you or anyone else, and trying to keep my despondency secret, led me to spending more nights alone in my room than out with everyone. Lunch was an ideal time to sneak off and meditate in the bushes. Sitting so still in classrooms made me want to scream.

As I sit on the ground and sob, I feel suddenly your arms wrap around me. Warm and welcome is your embrace. You pull me towards you, but I refuse to wet your shirt with my tears. I lean into you, and hope that if I imagine your face, the tears will stop.

It takes a long time, but eventually my tear ducts are dry. I wipe my raw and red cheeks to glance up at you.

So close, I can feel your breath on my cheek and your warmth through my clothes. I feel so vulnerable. I am too unused to experiencing this emotion with other people that I can't help but feel almost stupid with you there. I'm glad my cheeks are already too red to reveal any blush I might have.

You're blushing too, though. A lovely shade of pink warms your cheeks, which I find handsome on you. Even with your stoic and composed nature, you can't help but act bashful when we are in close proximity.

In my ear, you murmur your apology. I'm sure you expect one from me, but I don't trust my voice not to crack. Instead I bury me face into your shoulder. You tense, perhaps I am too rash?, but then you relax. I am too tired now to explain any more to you. I know you deserve an explanation, but you are too kind to force one from me. Instead we nestle together, and I seek solace in your warmth.

At midnight, my phone ring wakes me. I feel asleep in that position, and now we are both stiff. You help me to stand, and you don't let go of my hand until we part ways at the path. I half expect you to kiss me then, but I am glad you don't. Instead, you tuck a stray hair behind my ear, and I kiss your cheek. My suddenly empty fingers feel amazingly cold, but the smile won't leave my face.

Just as well, for when I get home, I must make up an excuse that I fell asleep at Aelita's. My parents aren't pleased, but it's hard for me to care just then.

I collapse upon my head and in my dreamless sleep memories plague me. Not any of the momentous ones, but the little ones. Like the times that Odd told a stupid joke, so we threw him a pity laugh, and they grew into genuine ones. Or whenever Jeremy begins to go on and on about computers in a language I would swear isn't English, and you would mock him from behind. He was always so angry, but I couldn't help giggling.

That's what it is for us, isn't it? We'll fight often, I have no doubt about it. It would be a lie to say that you are never arrogant or rash, but that's what I'm around for, right? So I can beat you back into place.

As for me, it seems you have the task of managing me and my damnable sin.

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So what did you think? Once again, sorry for spelling mistakes. I've never written in second person POV before, and personally, I feel as if the story sort of fell apart at the end.

Thanks for reading.


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